A dangerous trend, all too familiar on American campuses, is seeping into European universities: the tendency for moral certainty to curdle into censorship, and for political fashion to harden into institutional policy. In the US, we’ve witnessed how campus politics can devolve into purity tests, where disagreement leads to disqualification, and where entire groups—often Jewish or Israeli students and faculty—find themselves silenced, excluded, or told they don’t belong.
Now, this same troubling pattern has landed in Tilburg.
Tilburg University’s recent decision to suspend ties with Israeli academic institutions is not a routine policy change or a principled stand for peace. It is a retreat from the very essence of what a university should be: a haven for dialogue, academic freedom, and critical thought. It signals a choice to become a political actor rather than an academic institution, setting a precedent that should concern every student, professor, and citizen.
Let’s be clear: there is no Dutch law demanding this boycott. No EU regulation mandates it. Israeli academic institutions remain fully eligible for EU research collaborations, including major funding programs like Horizon Europe, and no EU sanctions prohibit engagement. This decision was not grounded in legal obligation or broad academic consensus, but one seemingly driven by political pressure and perhaps fear—poor guides for public institutions.
This absence of a legal directive is crucial. Public institutions like Tilburg University, which operate under the framework of Dutch administrative law and are significantly state-funded, typically require a sound legal basis for actions that could infringe on fundamental rights or deviate from principles of neutrality and equality. Acting unilaterally in an area that brushes against foreign policy, without a clear mandate from the national government or EU, raises questions about institutional overreach.
Legally, this selectivity could be scrutinized under non-discrimination principles. Article 1 of the Dutch Constitution enshrines the principle of equality and prohibits discrimination on various grounds, which can be interpreted to include nationality in certain contexts. While universities possess autonomy, their decisions, especially those of public entities, are not immune from judicial review if they appear arbitrary or discriminatory. Furthermore, EU law, while perhaps not directly governing university-to-university agreements in all aspects, upholds non-discrimination on grounds of nationality as a fundamental principle within the scope of the Treaties. Singling out institutions of one specific nation for a boycott, while maintaining ties with institutions in other nations with comparable or more severe human rights concerns, could be challenged as a departure from these principles.
The inconsistency at the heart of this decision reveals its troubling nature. The suspension includes Reichman University, an independent and privately funded institution in Israel that receives no state support. This demonstrates the decision is not strictly about state policy or government complicity, but targets affiliation and identity. Contrast this with continued engagement by Dutch and European universities with institutions in countries with far more extensive records of systemic repression or conflict. Many maintained partnerships with Russian universities until formal EU sanctions made them legally untenable. Where no law forbids such cooperation, universities have typically exercised restraint, preferring dialogue over rupture. Why is Israel the exception? This question isn’t whataboutism; it’s a call for consistency. When institutions disengage based on moral concerns but apply that reasoning selectively, the stance ceases to be principled and appears purely political.
This move erodes academic freedom, which is more than the right to express one’s views; it’s the freedom to collaborate, challenge, and learn across borders and perspectives. Academic freedom, often linked to freedom of expression (Article 7 of the Dutch Constitution) and the freedom of science (Article 20), is not merely an abstract ideal but a functional prerequisite for universities. A decision to sever ties based on nationality can be argued to infringe upon the academic freedom of Tilburg’s own faculty and students by denying them opportunities for collaboration, research, and scholarly exchange with an entire national academic community. It potentially restricts their ability to engage with diverse perspectives and pursue knowledge without politically imposed limitations.
When a university, absent a legal framework and broad consensus, anoints itself a moral judge, it abandons its role as an academic institution for that of a political actor. Under Dutch administrative law, public bodies must adhere to principles of good governance, including the duty of care (zorgvuldigheidsbeginsel), proportionality (evenredigheidsbeginsel), and the prohibition of détournement de pouvoir (acting for an improper purpose). One could question whether a blanket boycott is a proportionate measure to achieve any stated ethical aim, whether all relevant interests (including those of its own academic community) were carefully weighed, and whether making such a politically charged statement aligns with the university’s statutory educational and research mission, or if it constitutes an abuse of its powers for purposes it’s not primarily designed for. Choosing ideology over integrity, and acting as if academic cooperation is a privilege granted only to the politically pure, is not how a university, particularly a public one, should function.This isn’t academic freedom; it’s academic exclusion. And exclusion rarely stays contained. Today it’s Israeli academics. Tomorrow, who decides which voices are next?
This is not just a “Jewish issue.” It is an academic issue, a societal one, and fundamentally, a democracy issue. Public institutions like Tilburg are bound by democratic values and constitutional rights, expected to act with proportionality, equality, and care. The decision to impose what amounts to an academic sanction, without legal mandate or due consideration of these binding legal principles, sets a dangerous precedent.
What happens when universities treat entire countries or groups of scholars as unacceptable partners based on political alignment? The result is not solidarity, but academic tribalism. If political correctness becomes a prerequisite for collaboration, no field is safe. Environmental researchers might be barred for working with states exploiting fossil fuels; technologists excluded for engaging with countries under authoritarian rule. This is not hypothetical; it is a path we are beginning to walk.
I write this not to win an argument, but as a warning. Universities must choose their role. Will they be places where politics determines who belongs? Or will they remain spaces where disagreement, complexity, and pluralism are not just tolerated but actively encouraged?
Academic freedom is not a luxury; it is the foundation of inquiry. If we allow it to be selectively applied—if we decide some affiliations disqualify scholars before they even speak—we are dismantling it. Tilburg, like many institutions globally, can still choose a better path, one of courage over conformity, complexity over slogans, and community over division. Because once academic freedom becomes conditional, once universities abandon complexity for conformity, we’ve lost something far more important than a partnership. We’ve lost the university itself. The line Tilburg has drawn may start with Israel, but if left unchallenged, and if the legal principles underpinning public institutional conduct are disregarded, this curbing of academic freedom will not end here.
Ultimately, Tilburg University’s suspension of ties with Israeli academia stands on shaky ground. Lacking a basis in Dutch or EU law, and potentially conflicting with fundamental principles of non-discrimination, proportionality, and the proper exercise of public institutional power, the decision appears less a principled stance and more a capitulation to political pressure. This selective application of moral judgment undermines the university’s credibility and chips away at the foundation of academic freedom – the freedom to engage, collaborate, and learn across borders. If public institutions charged with upholding democratic values and legal duties can make such far-reaching decisions based on political fashion rather than sound legal reasoning and consistent principle, the integrity of academic life itself is threatened. The line drawn at Tilburg warns of a future where inclusion is conditional, and the university ceases to be a universal space for knowledge.
Liran Bean is a Global Law student at Tilburg University, holding a B.A. in Government, Diplomacy, and Strategy from Reichman University and a former intern at the International Institute for Counterterrorism in Herzliya, Israel.
Sharon Basch is a 3L at the University of Pittsburgh School of Law and JURIST staffer.
